


Forever Always

by Emcee



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Canon-Typical Violence, Episode Related, Episode: The Abominable Bride, Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/Molly Hooper, F/M, Gender Roles, Het, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Morality, Premarital Sex, Secret Identity, Secret Relationship, Sherlock Holmes and Feelings, Victorian, Victorian Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-04
Updated: 2016-01-04
Packaged: 2018-05-11 18:56:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,958
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5638168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emcee/pseuds/Emcee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John Watson confronted Hooper about "his" secret, he had no idea there was still a more shocking revelation left. In any time, John Watson sees but does not observe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Forever Always

**Author's Note:**

> This is as close as I'm coming to an Always Something sequel. Thanks to Petra, Lexie, Sempaiko and Pablo for beta and support.

"Amazing, what one has to do to get ahead in a man's world." Watson doffed his bowler hat in goodbye, making sure Molly truly understood the meaning of his words.

Fear flooded her, but she allowed none of it to show on her face. She instead focused on the feelings of irritation that permeated just as deeply.

She could feel Anderson standing behind her. He had witnessed the entire exchange. Heard Watson's words, seen his actions. She held her breath, waiting for him to say something.

"What's he sayin' that for?" Anderson questioned.

The apprehension quickly evaporated, but her exasperation grew exponentially. "Get back to work," she hissed through clenched teeth. Finally, she was able to release the breath she had been holding.

Once she heard Anderson's broom against the floor, she took a moment. She didn't want to be seen fleeing the morgue. Once she was certain her leave wouldn't be seen as flight, she strode into the corridor. No matter how many years she had practiced her male gait it still felt unnatural to her, giving her an odd limp. She had explained it away as an injury from a scuffle during university.

Her disgust with Watson was churning her stomach. Oh, she should have _known_ he would treat her in such a way. She had dealt with men like him before. When she had first applied for medical school it had been as Molly Hooper. She had not suffered the same indignities as the Edinburgh Seven, the trailblazers who inspired her to pursue her dreams, but she had been disparaged all the same. She had been unable to find the fortitude of her heroes, the barbs and mistreatment enough to drive her away, at least as herself. If she were going to prove herself, she would have to do so as Matthew Hooper.

John Watson was from the same stock as the men who had taunted her out of her own identity. His revelation to her was a crass display of bravado, an attempt to exert power over her.

Once safely ensconced in her office, she leaned heavily against the door and sighed deeply. It was difficult enough to deal with Holmes and Watson barging into her morgue without Watson lording this over her head.

"So I am 'Daddy' now, am I?"

Molly jumped at the rich baritone. She took a shuddering breath, trying to regain her composure. "What on earth are you trying to do? Give me a heart attack?"

Holmes set down the papers she had been writing before she had been summoned to the morgue. He rose from behind her desk, stalking to her. "I've sent Watson to retrieve a cab. It's proven to be difficult with the weather."

Molly arched a brow, lip curling slightly. "And just where does he believe you have disappeared to?"

Holmes lifted the deerstalker from his head, dropping it to the floor. His ethereally blue eyes stared down at her. "When he informed me of Emelia Ricoletti's consumption I excused myself to take another look at the corpse." The corners of his mouth wrinkled in a smile. "Every once and a while it is good to humour him."

Molly rolled her eyes. "And come to bother me instead." She glowered at him. "I'm very busy writing up reports."

"I've just been reading them." Holmes turned back to the desk, his inverness swirling around his thin frame. "Solid work as always, Hooper... But while I'm here I thought I would find out why you are so irritated by my presence."

Molly crossed her arms over her chest. "I am always irritated when you come to my morgue."

Holmes turned back, giving the slightest shake of the head. "No, you always _seem_ irritated, in order to misguide the plebeians. Today is different... You're genuinely put out that I'm here."

Tendrils of fear began to creep into Molly anew. She shrugged her shoulders. "I just thought you would be away longer."

"And that displeases you?" Holmes frowned, his brows furrowing. "What is going on?"

"Aren't we going to talk about what Watson said to me?" Molly asked. Her encounter with Watson was a comfortable alternative to any line of questioning Holmes would have for her.

"He told you Emelia Ricoletti had consumption. Are you upset he discovered something you had missed?" Holmes took a careful step forward.

"He knows I'm a woman!" Molly hissed. She stalked to Holmes, glaring up at him. "If Anderson weren't so unbelievably thick he would have been able to figure out what Watson was alluding to. You don't think that's something to worry about?"

"I wasn't aware it had happened," Holmes admitted. "I only heard you disparaging me before I was out of earshot." He sighed. "Whatever you may believe Watson will not betray your secret. He knows how valuable I find your proficiency, despite what he perceives as my personal dislike for you."

Holmes took another step forward, the gap between them infinitesimal. He abandoned his cape, revealing the fine tweed suit beneath.

Her demeanour wavered, a small smile creeping on her lips. Gone was Holmes, the great detective. He was Sherlock now and she always loved him in tweeds.

Sherlock's hands rested on the padding around her waist that smoothed out her figure to a more masculine form. Those long fingers slowly slid down until they rested on her hips. "Did he mention any other deductions he had made?"

"Hm?" Molly hummed, momentarily distracted.

"I mean..." Sherlock tilted his head in curiosity. "He knows you're a woman..." He leaned in, his breath warm against her skin. "Does he know you're the woman I very much wish to marry?"

* * *

 

 

Any relaxation that had entered Molly at Sherlock's proximity to her had quickly disappeared by his statement. Sherlock could feel the change in her, the tension that flooded her as she pulled away from him.

"No," Molly's voice was tight as she shook her head. "Thank goodness for that. Just imagine if he found that out!"

Sherlock groaned as she turned her back to him. Considering Molly's displeasure with him bringing up marriage was the last thing he should have done.

He had never sought a bride. The idea had been abhorrent to him, at least until he had met the lovely young woman who tried in vain to disguise herself as a man. It was a cruel fate that the only person he would want to marry would be as averse to the institution as he himself had once been.

"You're already my wife in every way that matters," Sherlock pointed out. He stepped towards her once again, his chest pressed to her back. He stroked his fingers over her, entwining their hands. He could feel callouses from her scalpel on her fingers. "You're willing to lay with me, but when I bring up the idea of legitimizing it you pull away. If anyone found out about what you've let me do to you..."

"No one will find out," Molly insisted fiercely, but she didn't pull away from him. "Watson has no idea. No one has any idea what we do."

"Why don't you want to marry me?" Sherlock asked.

Molly finally turned to look at him. "I'm with you in every way that matters _to us_. Everything else is to appease the rest of the world. And if we start caring what other people think... Then I can't be Matthew _or_ Molly Hooper. I'll be nothing but Mrs Sherlock Holmes. Expected to stay home and pine for you until you return from your cases. I won't do that. I can't do that. I've worked too hard to get where I am."

"I love you, Molly Hooper." Sherlock brought his hands up to cup her face, thumbs running over the fake sideburns she donned to disguise herself. "And your reason for not wishing to marry me is exactly why I wish to marry _you_."

Molly finally relaxed in his embrace as he leaned in and pressed a kiss to her lips. The bristly hairs of her fake moustache tickled his upper lip. No wonder Watson's wife secretly despised his facial hair; it was quite an unpleasant feeling.

Molly was right, of course. They were man and wife in every way that mattered, save for a legal document. He had no belief in religion and found no sin in carnal knowledge of her body. He was faithful to her and she to him. He required no vow to assure fidelity.

"Come to Baker Street tonight," Sherlock purred in Molly's ear. He wouldn't be long on the Ricoletti case and his ardour had been well suppressed while he had been away in the country. Now that he was back in her company he was voracious for more.

If he had his way he would have just moved her into the rooms, marriage be damned. Molly rarely left her own home out of her male persona. No one would think twice about Sherlock acquiring someone else to share his home now that Watson was married. The only question that might arise would be why Sherlock Holmes would room with Matthew Hooper, a man who showed a distinct loathing for him.

Molly's slender fingers cradled the back of his neck and pressed closer to him. Sherlock didn't care that her leather apron might leave unsightly stains on his suit. His only regret was he could not feel Molly's small breasts against him, bound tightly under lengths of linen he would delight in removing if she would agree to his proposal. Judging from her sudden want for physical contact she was as hungry as he.

"What about Emelia Ricoletti?" Molly asked, her voice barely a whisper.

"I'm fairly certain she will remain dead this time," Sherlock replied. He rasped her earlobe with his teeth.

Regretfully, he pulled away from Molly. Her cheeks were flushed with colour. He smiled fondly at her. "Take a moment to compose yourself, Hooper. You have work to do still. I will see you at Baker Street tonight."

Molly narrowed her gaze. "I haven't said I'll come."

Sherlock's smile widened. "I will see you tonight."

With one final swift kiss to her cheek he retrieve his cape and hat, striding from the room. As he walked he straightened his clothing. He needed as much time as Molly to compose himself. 

Sometimes he lamented his affair with Molly Hooper. His carefully crafted persona of cold reason was so easily shaken by her. Yet he could not bring himself to care past acknowledging the change in his demeanour. The benefits far outweighed any detriments.

He felt good when he was with her. Not the orgasms, though a climax with Molly far outstripped any pleasurable sensation he received from morphine or cocaine. He liked the way Molly looked at him. When he was with her, he found calm where there was usually boredom. She made him believe being an ordinary man might not be so terrible.

"Holmes!" Watson's voice cut through Sherlock's reverie. "Where have you been? I've been holding the cab for ten minutes!"

When had he gotten outside? It was so easy to get lost in thought. He was on the snowy street before Watson, who stood in front of a waiting cab, the horse stamping its foot against the ground.

"Never mind, Watson." Sherlock stepped into the back of the carriage. "Your wife seemed quite displeased we ran out so suddenly. Perhaps you should take her out to dinner tonight."

Watson frowned, sitting down next to Sherlock. "And what about the case? What are going to do?" 

Sherlock smiled. "Don't worry about me, Watson. I have important business."

* * *

 

Molly couldn't help but let out a soft laugh at the sight of Sherlock waiting for her. He sat in his chair, pipe held in his mouth. His hair was not slick back as usual, falling onto his forehead with a slight curl. His gaze was smouldering as he rose to his feet. He took the pipe from his mouth, setting it down on the table. His dressing gown fluttered around his legs as he moved towards her, like a predatory animal.

"Why are you laughing at me?" Sherlock asked, bringing his hands up to cup her face.

"Just how long have you been waiting for me to arrive?" Molly tilted her chin up towards him.

"Ah." Sherlock placed a finger to her lips, denying her contact. "I do prefer a clean shaven lover."

Her took hold of her hands and led her to his bedroom.

Watson wasn't allowed in Sherlock's bedroom, so when he described the chaos of 221B he never mentioned how warm and inviting Sherlock's room was. It was the one place that was cleaned on a regular basis. It was Sherlock himself that cleaned them, as he was loathed to let Mrs Hudson into his private sanctuary. Left to his own devices, it would be as filthy as the rest of the home. Molly exhibited her disgust about staying in there the first time they were intimate. The next time she came over it had been cleaned from floor to ceiling. Her comfort was more important to him than his indifference and laziness.

Turning her from Matthew into Molly was almost a ritual for them. It was one Sherlock seemed to take endless joy in. First, it was the moustache and sideburns. Sherlock had concocted his own solvent for the spirit gum. He carefully removed them from her face, mindful not to injure her skin. Only once they were gone and ensconced in the snuff box by his bedside did Sherlock leaned in and pressed his mouth to hers. She sighed against his lips as his tongue slipped into her mouth.

Molly whimpered softly when Sherlock withdrew. He stood straight, reaching up for her wig. It was a relief to have it off. It was always so stifling. At least the weather was cool, especially down in the morgue. The wig was abandoned on top of Sherlock's phrenology bust. Molly smiled and turned her back to Sherlock. He always delighted in unpinning her hair working out the plaits. Soon enough, long, slender fingers were sliding through her freed hair, letting it spill over her shoulder.

"There you are," Sherlock's voice was a low rumble in her ear. "I've missed you, Molly Hooper."

She turned and smiled at him. "I missed me too."

She was more herself when she was with Sherlock than she was by herself. He allowed her to explore avenues she never thought possible. 

She had never thought this would happen to her. She never planned to tie herself to a man. She had no desire to be controlled, used as free housekeeping and a source for heirs. But this man was like no other. He revelled in her independence, her intelligence.

In her weaker moments she wondered if it would be so terrible to be married to him. Sherlock would never ask her to leave her job, to stop doing the very things that made him fall in love with her.

But no... Sherlock was not the issue. Even he could not be himself, not with Watson writing his every movement. He was forced to act as a caricature of himself. She would fare even worse if they legitimized their union, if Molly Hooper were anything more than a treasured secret between them.

"Come back to me," Sherlock commanded as he pulled the cravat from her throat. He unbuttoned the top of her shirt, pressing a kiss to the hollow of her throat. "You've gotten lost in your thoughts. I want you here with me."

"You're one to talk," Molly pointed out.

"When I'm with you, I'm _with you_ ," Sherlock yanked her jacket off, followed quickly by her waistcoat. "Feel privileged, Hooper... You're the only person who can claim such a thing."

"Don't call me Hooper," Molly retorted. She took hold of his face, lifting it to look at her. "I'm not him right now."

"You're very attractive when you're aggressive." Sherlock groaned as he took a heated kiss from her lips. He unhooked the padding at her waist, revealing the gentle curves of her figure. "We might have to rethink how we act in the mortuary. I dread visiting when I know you're there... You make me unbelievably aroused."

"Say my name again," Molly demanded.

"Molly," her name never sounded more beautiful than when he said it. He trailed kisses over her jawline. "Molly, Molly... Always Molly."

Molly raised her arms as Sherlock began to pull at the linen binding her breasts. She closed her eyes, taking in a breath as she felt the pressure lessening. Finally, she was bared and she felt his mouth against the swell of her breast.

She opened her eyes and looked down at him. Sherlock peered up at her, his gaze maddened with desire. " _Molly_."

Her name was all he needed to say. She could hear the hungry need in his voice, the want for them to be together. She felt it all too keenly herself. Her hands busied themselves with Sherlock's dressing gown while he worked to divest her of her trousers.

Finally freed of her male costume, Molly wrapped her arms around Sherlock's neck. He lifted her by the hips, carrying her to his bed.

She looked up at him, seeing the love and desire in his eyes. "Sherlock..."

She wanted to say she would stay forever. If he wanted her to marry him then of course she would.

Sherlock blinked, waiting for her to continue.

"I love you," she whispered, cursing herself for her stubbornness.

Sherlock cupped her cheek in one large hand. "I know, Molly... I know."

When one loved Sherlock Holmes, many things could be left unspoken.


End file.
